


He Gave Me Half Myself

by spacecitytraffic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Season 3 Spoilers, WARNINGS:, also pre season 1 research gang, danny was trans because i say so!, dermatillomania / skin picking, highlights:, jon is neurodivergent because i say so!, jon is nonbinary because i say so!, like major season 3 spoilers, tim helps jon figure out what it means to be nonbinary and it's SWEET because I SAY SO!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28721646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacecitytraffic/pseuds/spacecitytraffic
Summary: Jon remembers Tim. Specifically, he remembers how much of his own current identity he owes to someone who isn't around anymore, and it hurts. But it helps, too, to know that Tim will never really be gone. Not when he's such a big part of who Jon is.(Or, a few flashbacks in which Tim helps Jon navigate being nonbinary. Set before season 1 of the Magnus Archives.)
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 72





	He Gave Me Half Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [housed by your warmth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785782) by [alexiley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiley/pseuds/alexiley). 



Jon’s day is going… well, his days are never  _ good _ , not lately. But the morning is going within acceptable parameters so far, which is more or less the same thing. 

He’s keeping it together, is the point. He checked the weather this morning and threw on a floral coat he hasn’t worn in ages, and now he’s hurrying to the train station in an oblivious fog of routine. The air is freezing, but the train will be here soon, and…

“Hey, I like your pin,” some teen offers as they pass, giving a thumbs-up. 

“Oh, er, thank you,” Jon replies, blinking to clear his head. He glances down at his lapel, trying to remember what he’s even wearing, only to have his heart stop momentarily. Hm. That’s, well. A tiny disc of yellow, white, violet, black. It’s a pride pin, a gift, actually, from…

Oh. The memories tend to hit him at the oddest times, and they always swamp him without warning, don’t they? And suddenly, the weight of grief is a thousand pounds on his rail-thin shoulders, and he’s staggering under it. 

Tim gave him that pin, didn’t he? Tim gave him… so much. 

At this point, Jon is certain that he won’t be able to breathe for some time now. Blinking furiously, he tries to regain his bearings. There, a washroom. Single stall. Perfect. 

Jon strides into it, slams the door behind him, and slams his back into the door. Just in time. The tears are already rolling, and for the love of God, he couldn’t even say why, he just…

He needs a minute. He needs a minute, knuckles pressed to his mouth, shoulders trembling, to let the memories wash over him and eventually, hopefully, ebb. He just… needs a minute.

—————————————

Tim has always known just what people need, hasn’t he? Most people even claim that he’s practically psychic. It’s nothing dramatic or in any way verifiable, but Tim Stoker’s luck is somehow always spot-on. It’s infuriating.

Put it this way. Once, he bought a blue bouquet for Rosie, purely on a whim. And the very next day, she announced to the office that she was pregnant with a boy. Tim wins every coin toss and every game of rock paper scissors. And he has a horrible talent for only asking if you’re okay in the moments when you’re least okay and hiding it the best. 

In short, even a publicly avowed skeptic such as Jon has to admit that Tim is a bit luckier than most. Which makes it odd that he, a man whose intuitions are nearly always accurate, seems convinced that Jon wants nothing more than to go with him to the thrift store. Because Jon most assuredly does not.

“Come  _ on _ ,” Tim nags. “You can’t just keep wearing the same four turtlenecks over and over again!”

“They work.” Jon stares Tim down over his third cup of coffee. “Why would I waste my paycheck switching to something uncertain, if I already know that my current clothes work?”

“It’s not about certainty, it’s about  _ adventure _ ,” Tim says with a flourish. “You’ll have a great time, I promise.”

“I’m fairly certain I will not,” he retorts. “I hope you and Sasha have a wonderful time, but I will not be joining you.”

Tim presses a hand to his chest, gasping dramatically. “You don’t trust me, Jon? I’m wounded!”

“I’ve only known you for a month and a half,” Jon says drily.

“Well, most people trust me within a  _ day _ and a half of knowing me. You are simply an exception.” Tim brushes himself off and gives a mock-offended  _ hmf _ . “Well, I’ll convince you someday.”

At that, Jon has to chuckle. “I doubt that.”

“Well, I don’t.” Tim grins, like it’s a challenge. “Mark my words, I will get you to join me and Sasha on a shopping trip one day. And you know I’m never wrong.”

“Hm.” Jon takes a sip of his coffee, declining to share his thoughts on why Tim is inevitably going to be proven incorrect. Shopping is never  _ fun _ . Between the stress of money and the fact that no clothes ever hang right on his lanky frame, it’s simply never a good experience. “Best of luck with that.”

So Tim goes away disappointed, and Jon finishes his coffee in peace. He even manages to get a little work done, in the absence of pestering influences. It’s tranquil. It’s beautiful.

And then an hour or two later, Tim sweeps back into the office and tosses a wad of fabric directly at Jon’s head. “Catch!”

Jon nearly falls out of his chair, but manages to catch the offending garment without too much embarrassment. “What is this supposed to be?”

“A shawl! It’s gonna be cold soon, and it made me think of you.”

Unfurling the shawl in his lap, Jon peers skeptically down at it over the rims of his glasses. It’s a huge, plaid, woolen thing, that looks warm but certainly not practical. “This looks like it should belong to a librarian. Or a grandmother.”

“Hey, at least it’ll change up your look. Thank me later!” 

By the time Jon looks up to retort that the forecast predicts sun for the next few days, Tim is already gone. So all he can do is roll his eyes and fold the shawl away into his desk. He almost forgets about it, too, and certainly neglects to bring it home.

But the next day, Tim is actually proved right. There  _ does  _ happen to be an unexpected cold front, and the heater at the institute  _ does _ decide to get a bit finicky. Tim claims his achy shoulder predicts the weather, Jon retorts that it’s likely a case of early onset arthritis, they bicker, they laugh. And as it turns out, Jon is a little bit grateful for the shawl. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

He had thought he was only thankful for the warmth, at first. But when he catches his reflection in windows and bathroom mirrors, he… well, he smiles. A little. Stiffly. But it, hm. Softens his angles, in a way that’s. Nice. He supposes.

It’s all a bit ridiculous, really. Jonathan Sims, Resident Grandmother of the Magnus Institute.

Still, he doesn’t take it off for some time.

—————————————

The thing is, Jon probably just likes the shawl because he likes to hide. Historically, he has never had… well, he’s never had a good relationship with his body. He eats most days, but only because he has to. He doesn’t usually linger long when he catches sight of himself in a mirror. And his skin, well. 

Obviously, he could excuse his picking at every imperfection and scab as just a fidgeting thing. It happens when he gets too into his research, or when he’s not paying enough attention. It’s mindless. It’s not on purpose. He knows this.

But he also knows that he could invest in some bandaids, that he could cut his nails short, that he could find something else to fidget with. There are easy, simple ways he could stop himself. And, well. He doesn’t. Not in a self-destructive way, of course, it just… doesn’t seem like it’s worth the trouble.

That’s how he finds himself bleeding onto his desk in research one day, from a scrape on his hand that just won’t seem to stay closed. The pain is unpleasant, but not too distracting. So Jon just huffs, grabs a tissue, and presses it to the wound as he continues to read. This happens. It’s so regular that he barely even registers it. 

But apparently, Tim isn’t quite so inured to this habit. “Jon, are you okay?” he asks, leaning up against the desk without being invited. “That looks pretty painful.”

“Hm?” Jon glances up, trying to drag himself out of the article he was inspecting. “Sorry, I. No. I’m fine. Did you need something?”

“No, I didn’t need anything, I just…” Tim’s gaze drops to Jon’s ragged nails, and the splotch of blood on them where they’re pressed against the white tissue. “This happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

Jon presses his lips together, trying hard not to glare. “If there isn’t anything you need, I am quite busy. As you can see.”

“Sure, sure. I just…” And then Tim gets that horrible glint in his eyes, like he’s just had an idea he thinks is brilliant. “Say, are you doing anything over lunch break?”

“A working lunch, actually,” Jon lies. “As I said, I’m very busy, and—”

“Great, so you’ll be around!” Tim claps his hands together, grinning that million-watt grin of his. “Because Sasha and I were going to take a break and do some girls’ day stuff, and I was wondering if you’d want to join us. It’d help relieve some of that stress of yours.”

Jon just arches an eyebrow. “Girls’ day?”

“Loosely defined.” Tim laughs freely, resting his hands in the pockets of his too-tight jeans. “Listening to music, painting our nails--”

“That cannot be in compliance with Institute dress code.”

“The boss will never notice.” Tim rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Jon, please join us. It’ll be fun!”

“Unfortunately, I am incredibly busy, so you two may have to have this so-called--”

“We’re going to have  _ crepes _ …”

Oh, for God’s sake. This is ridiculous, this is unprofessional, this is going to take away valuable hours from Jon’s day. But… arguing with Tim is also wasting time that could be saved by simply giving in. And...

“What kind of crepes,” Jon asks warily. 

At that, a triumphant smirk spreads across Tim’s face. “The kind with strawberries  _ and _ chocolate.”

Jon curses under his breath. “You are a manipulator, and I ought to report you to HR. I should never have told you my favorite food. This is bribery, plain and simple.”

“If you say so,” Tim chuckles. “I’ll see you there at noon, then. Don’t be late!”

So, against all of his better judgment, Jon meets his co-workers in the breakroom at 12:00 sharp. The music is admittedly quite good, and the crepes are just as fantastic as Tim made them out to be. Having his nails done does feel a bit like being declawed, as if he’s some cat who can’t be trusted with anything sharp. But all the same…

When Jon picks up his hand to inspect the polish, he can’t help a small smile when he sees the way the deep purple catches the light. “This is. Erm. Not a bad colour, Tim.”

“Thanks! I stole it from my mum a few years ago, it’s one of my favorites.” Tim is already busy painting Sasha’s nails an electric green, so he doesn’t pay Jon much mind. 

But that’s all right. Jon isn’t quite sure he wants anyone to catch the way he keeps glancing at his fingers, admiring the still-drying paint. It looks... hm. Nice. Put-together in a way he so rarely actually feels inside. But right for him, somehow. Strangely enough.

He tries not to dwell on that thought, but it’s a lovely experience, all the same. 

—————————————

After a few more girls’ days and fresh coats of nail polish, June eventually rolls around. Jon has always enjoyed the festivities of pride month, albeit from a distance. It’s nice to feel the connection, to see his fellow bisexuals and asexuals and everyone else in the community revel in what makes them unique. But Jon is a fairly private person, so he doesn’t tend to participate. 

Tim, however… Good Lord. 

The first of June falls on a Sunday, so Jon doesn’t run into Tim at the Institute until the second. But when he does, it becomes clear that Tim has already been celebrating. His nails are painted in the colors of the bi flag, flecks of glitter cling to his hair that clearly just won’t wash out, and he’s wearing a t-shirt that proclaims him to be a “disaster gay”. It brings an involuntary smile to Jon’s face, and Tim notices the look right away. 

“Like the shirt? I can get you one just like it,” he offers heartily. 

“I happen to not be a disaster, thank you,” Jon quips, trying to look back down at his paperwork and not be distracted. 

“If you say so.” Tim just laughs and plops down at his desk, pulling out a plastic bag full of multicolored buttons. “If anybody wants a pride pin, you all know where to find me!”

Sasha steps through the door just as he says it, and her face lights up. “Ooh, I’ll take a couple! You can never have enough, and I keep losing mine.”

“Here you go, Sash!” Tim makes a show of dumping them out onto his desk with a flourish. “Take your pick!”

A couple of pins skitter off the desk and bounce onto the floor because of Tim’s careless treatment, and one rolls across the floor to bump up against Jon’s shoe. Resigning himself to distraction, Jon stoops down to pick it up, then squints at the unfamiliar color scheme. “Tim?”

“Yeah?” Tim is picking his way through the buttons like a magpie, comparing his finds with Sasha excitedly. “What’s up?”

“What exactly is this one for?” Jon crosses over to Tim’s desk, holding out the pin for Tim to inspect. “I’m not exactly the most well-versed, so I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it before.” 

“That one?” Tim tilts his head to the side. “Oh, that’s the nonbinary flag. It’s for anyone who doesn’t feel like the ideas of  _ man _ or  _ woman _ can fully describe who they are, whether that means they feel a connection to both, or neither, or something else, or really anything.” He gestures vaguely in a way that clears absolutely nothing up.

“Hm.” Jon stares down at the pin in his hand, now acutely aware of its weight in his palm. Every one of Tim’s words makes the little trinket feel more and more like a hot coal. “So… most people  _ do _ feel an attachment to either one?”

“Well, some people certainly do,” Sasha says with a shrug. “For me personally, most of my experience is really impacted by the fact that I am a woman. It’s a pretty big part of who I am and how I work, I guess. Like a framework, or something.”

“Oh. Er.” Now Jon’s cheeks are burning, like he’s a child who just accidentally admitted to not understanding something everyone else takes for granted. It’s a common enough experience for him, but that doesn’t make it easier. “That makes sense,” he says unconvincingly. “I suppose.”

“It’s okay if it doesn’t,” Tim offers. “There are plenty of people who that makes no sense whatsoever to. That’s part of why they made a flag, after all.”

Jon’s chest tightens. “You… do you think I…”

“It’s about what  _ you _ think,” Sasha says, leaning back against her desk. “If you feel like that flag is for you, then yeah, it’s yours. But obviously there’s no pressure.”

“Oh. Hm. I…” Jon takes a deep breath, glances down at the pin, then moves to put it in his coat pocket. “Is it... all right, if I keep it, at least for a bit? Just… while I think it over? I think I may want to do a bit of research, at the very least, just to ensure I understand correctly how all of this works.”

“Sure, go for it,” Tim says, already digging in the pin pile again. “And do you want the others, too? Bi and ace, right?”

“Oh, er…” Jon glances over at Sasha, who’s fastening a green, gray, and black button onto her cardigan with pride. The gesture makes his heart ache a little, and he realizes his answer. “Yeah. Yeah, those are the right ones.”

“All right, here ya go!”

—————————————

Jon is starting to wear the little yellow and purple pin on a somewhat regular basis by the time autumn rolls around again, and Tim starts pestering him about his quarterly thrift-shop run again. 

“Come  _ on _ , Jon!” Tim leans back in his swivel chair and puts his feet up on his desk. “It’s getting colder, and we all need some fun fall clothes to keep warm!” 

“I already have enough clothes to stay warm,” Jon replies, unimpressed, as he packs up for the day. Papers in a folder, folder in his briefcase…

“Then it’ll keep your  _ heart _ warm,” Tim counters with a grin. “C’mon, it’s gonna get dark and dreary and depressing soon, don’t you want a fun scarf or something to brighten you up? At the very least, the trip will be fun, even if we don’t buy anything.”

Jon just shakes his head with a sigh. “Can’t you drag Sasha or something?” 

“She’s busy this week, you know that,” Tim protests.

“Well, I’m busy.” Jon gestures at his work as he shoves his laptop into his briefcase. “I’m always busy, Tim, you know me.”

“You’re just going to go straight home and watch nature documentaries.” Tim rolls his eyes. “Come  _ on _ , why don’t you want to come?”

“I don’t like shopping! You know I don’t like shopping for clothes.” Jon zips up his briefcase and hefts it onto his lap, drumming his fingers on it impatiently. “Very few clothes look right on me, and I have enough of the ones that are safe to last me quite some time.”

“What makes you say that?” Tim frowns, sizing Jon up. “Sure, you’re wiry, but plenty of clothes flatter that kind of figure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter what  _ society _ says is flattering. Wear what you want! Don’t worry about how you look to anybody else!”

“It’s  _ uncomfortable _ ,” Jon manages to blurt out, resisting the urge to start fidgeting or knocking his knuckles together. “I don’t know, I just--I can see a perfectly good suit, or shirt, or tie, but then I see it on me, and it feels  _ wrong, _ and  _ bad _ , I… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just… not fun. So I find the same three safe turtlenecks and buy them in as many colors as I need, and that’s all I need, and it  _ works _ .”

Tim is quiet for a few seconds. “Jon, I… tell me if this is too far. But… is it the same sort of discomfort as you told me you get when someone calls you a man?”

“I…” Jon’s stomach lurches, and he twists his fingers in a knot in his lap. “I don’t know, I…”

Tim’s eyes soften, and he smiles a little. “Maybe?”

“I… yes.” Jon slumps back in his seat, and his shoulders unclench. “Maybe it is. I don’t know, I’d never thought of it like that before, but… it definitely feels the same. Physical, almost. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, it would make sense.” Tim hauls himself to his feet, looking like he’s ready to leave. “I’ll tell you what. I’m done nagging you, I’m not going to ask you to do anything that makes you that uncomfortable. But I am going to make you an offer.”

“Really?” Jon arches an eyebrow, suspicious. 

“You’re free to go home and watch whatever squid documentaries you’d like,” Tim begins. “But if you do come with me to the thrift store, I’d like to show you a different way to shop for clothes. I think it might make you less uncomfortable. If I’m wrong, I’ll personally drive you home the moment you say you’re out, ‘cause I don’t want you to feel like that alone, and I don’t want you to have to do that for any longer than you have to. But I do think I can show you a way that’ll work better.”

“You still haven’t convinced me,” Jon says warily.

“Put it this way.” Tim holds up his hands in front of him, like he’s about to drop the biggest revelation of the century. “The clothes are cheap, so we can buy whatever ridiculous things make us happy. And... we don’t have to shop in the men’s section.”

Jon opens his mouth to retort, then processes Tim’s words, then blinks. Hm. That… shouldn’t have been groundbreaking. But it somehow was. Of course, Jon has always known  _ theoretically _ that no one would arrest him from venturing out from the section of the store that feels like a little prison. But… well. He supposes he did need to be told that, all the same. 

“I… I might give that a try.”

The ride to the thrift shop is stressful, and Jon has to twist his fingers into pretzels in his coat pockets to gain the courage to walk in. But the inside of the little store smells comfortingly like old books and mothballs, and Tim grabs him by the arm and drags him past the rows that make him want to scream. Stiff collars, too-big belts, sharp angles… all of it gives way to soft wintry plaids and rustling loose fabrics. Hm. Maybe it is a little bit better over here. 

Tim goes through the shelves like a hunting dog, pulling out every article of clothing that he thinks might be suitably gender neutral. The skirt he finds is too much for Jon, at least at first. The sudden change makes him feel almost as alienated as a suit does when he sees his reflection in a mirror, an impostor who doesn’t belong on this side of the store, either. 

But Tim gets better at finding things that make the knots in Jon’s stomach melt away like ice in the sun. A cardigan, knitted from the softest wool Jon has ever felt in his life. It’s a size too big, but Jon loves the way he disappears in it all the same. He smiles at his reflection before he even has a chance to understand how bizarre that feeling is.

Next is a floppy feathered hat that doesn’t suit Jon at all, but Tim places it atop his own head with a proud grin. It’s ridiculous and bold and perfect for Tim, and Jon relaxes even more to see how his friend revels in it.

Then Tim finds a long floral coat that looks like it could’ve been made from a grandmother’s drapery or couch, and it’s… well, it’s the tackiest article of clothing in the shop. The two laugh about it, at first. It really is a silly thing. But then Jon slips it on, and turns to catch his image in the mirror... and he sees himself. God, he  _ sees _ himself. He sees the way it softens his angles and matches his nail polish and suits his overall aesthetic, and the joy rises in his chest so fast it’s frightening. His hands are dancing in excitement before he can stop them, and his eyes are glowing, and... this is right. It’s right.

Once again, Tim is always somehow  _ right _ .

—————————————

“How do you know so much about this,” Jon asks one day, fiddling aimlessly with the three pins on his lapel. “The, erm, gender, affair.”

“Well, you know I’m bi as hell,” Tim answers with a laugh. “And being anywhere in the queer community makes you question everything about yourself at least once or twice.”

“Yeah, but I mean.” Jon pulls a face and gestures to Tim’s ridiculous hawaiian shirt and snapback hat. “You seem to be fairly comfortable with your masculinity at this point.”

“Yeah, well…” Tim leans back in his office chair pensively. Something troubled enters his eyes, but he covers it with a bittersweet smile. “My little brother, he taught me a lot about the whole gender thing, too. I was the one who had to buy him binders and yell at him to take them off at night,” he adds with a chuckle. “So I think I know the drill, by now.”

“Ah. So you…”

“I see a lot of him in you, yeah.” Tim shrugs. “Anyway, wanna go grab Sasha and drag her off for crepes? We haven’t had a girls’ day in ages, we should get back into the habit!”

Tim is deflecting again, like he always does when the topic of family comes around. Jon doesn’t mind. He does the same thing. But still, it’s… well, it’s nice, Jon thinks. To be like family to Tim, even if it is in an oddly oblique way. Maybe they are a bit like brothers, aren’t they?

—————————————

Tim is gone, now, just like his brother Danny. Jon doesn’t know what he believes for certain, but he hopes they’re together, wherever they are. 

It’s almost funny, the fact that Jon finally understands Tim only after he’s gone. At least, he understands the part of Tim that ran on grief and loss. Jon has lost people before, of course he’s lost people. Family, even. But this is… different, somehow. 

Jon has never understood what it’s like to lose someone who’s literally a part of you. What it’s like to lose a person who helped you build a huge part of your identity, who is tied to the fabric of so many things that make you who you are. What it’s like to lose a  _ brother _ . 

He thinks he understands that now.

So after he finishes scrubbing at his eyes in the train station bathroom, he rummages in his briefcase for a rubber band and stares himself down in the mirror. Deep breath. He can handle his own reflection, as scarred and wrong as it sometimes feels. He can do this. 

As Jon runs his fingers through his hair and coaxes it into a loose braid, he can feel Tim’s hands on his, guiding the way. 

**Author's Note:**

> A few elements of this were inspired by Housed By Your Warmth by alexiley, so you should definitely go check that fic out!! It's so good, be prepared to cry happy tears. 
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to @remmy_needs_sleep, @mothman.moss, and @toy-soldiering for beta reading this for me!!


End file.
